Hogwarts after Midnight
by Woof The Cat
Summary: Hogwarts is a very different place after Midnight.
1. Neville's Midnight Delight

**Hogwarts after Midnight, Chapter 1**

**Neville's Midnight Delight**

**PLEASE READ.**

**This fanfiction is meant purely as a source of humour and for the more cosmopolitan among you, as a masturbatory-aid.**

**If you are a fan of enthralling mystery, heart-warming romance and smoldering passion, then this is the story for you.**

**But be warned weary traveler, you may find yourself too encapsulated by the quality of this avant-garde literary triumph and forget to eat or sleep, please don't.**

**Some info about the authors, we are two, humble, mastermind demigods who have decided to grace your site with this, we also have massive penises that aren't small or bent so don't say they are. **

**But in all seriousness, in this fic there is...**

**Strong language.**

**Sex scenes, really fucking bad ones.**

**Strong Violence.**

**Possibly...probably offensive themes.**

**So if you are put off by any of these then it's probably best if you only read it a couple of times, as apposed to the recommended hourly dose of Woof.**

**Plus it's a joke so chill the fuck out, this should probably be read by absolutely no-one**

**And, you're probably just too much of a pussy anyway. **

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It was ten to twelve in the Gryffindor Common Room, and Neville Longbottom was still awake. The young boy had been a member of Gryffindor for three weeks now, and yet he still felt alone. His house was one for the brave, for the noble of heart, and yet Neville felt less brave than the snoozing toad he cradled lovingly in his podgy fingers. He had decided after hours of tossing and turning that he wasn't going to getting any sleep, and so he had thrown off his crusty SpongeBob Square pants duvet and descended into the common room.

That speccy little queer Harry Potter had stolen all of Neville's imminent stardom; it was he who had unclogged McGonaggle's private latrine with his bare hands. But after felling a troll, suddenly Harry had all of the glory. Many times Neville had awoken, perfectly rigid, from dreams of killing Harry with the sword of Godric Gryffindor. Well this was the case no longer; the time of Neville Longbottom was now! Red with anger, Neville threw aside the pathetic toad into the fire. The sputtering death-rattle of melting pond-life filled the young boy's ears as he exited the common room, or 'Gryffindor cum on poo', and Neville had proudly scrawled above the threshold.

He frantically span, looking for anything to get the awful little nerd the attention he so craved. Ideas rapidly sprang up and then discredited themselves. Could he kill Snape? No, that faggot Malfoy was bound to ask questions. Maybe he should break into Dumbledore's lair and shit in the sorting hat, THAT would get Hogwarts talking about him. Neville's horrid, piggy eyes finally came to rest on the portrait of the fat lady. The boy's thin lips parted to reveal a set of brown, rotten fangs, his mouth curling into a perverse smile. He felt his Pokémon panties grow tighter by the second at the sight of her bulbous neck fat, which quivered with every masculine snore the bitch uttered. Neville launched himself into a thunderous sprint, sick thought after sick thought racing through his unholy mind.

The young boy ripped off his robes to reveal a pair of reviling, gangly frog's legs where his own should be, a product of the many hours of gene-splicing Neville had endured at the hands of Professor Sprout in the herbology department. 'SPONGIFY' yelled the mad little bastard, as he thrust the charm in the direction of the marble floor, turning the slabs of stone into rubbery blocks. With all his might Neville threw himself upon the new terrain and was launched, webbed toes and all, into the air facing the sleeping portrait. Salivating wildly, the corpulent amphibian realised his spongy endeavour would not keep him airborne long enough to realise his twisted fantasy. With a blood-curdling screech, Neville thrust his sharpened wand through his left hand into the rotten frame of the portrait, impaling his most trusted wanking appendage in the process of suspending his awful form in front of the eczema ridden visage of the fat lady herself.

Neville's lust-laden wail had awoken the morbidly obese image, who shook in an effort to rouse herself. She was confronted by the sight of an obscene human-frog hybrid, dangling before her, an insane glint in his watery eyes. With a chilling wink, he revealed his abominable two-inch member; it was covered in warts and scales, with a thick clump of greasy, crab-ridden pubic hair surrounding the abhorrent pork-sword. The aged spinster licked her lips in a simultaneously repugnant and inviting way. She was driven mad with lust at the sight of the little cunt's 'man'-hood. The fat lady opened her mouth in anticipation to receive Neville's grossly mutated shaft. The vile phantasm giggled with menacing desire, he was overcome with arousal although the flaccid state of his repulsive mutton-dagger would suggest otherwise.

With all of the strength of a hippogriff on steroids, Neville drove his organ toward her waiting mouth. But to the disappointment of both parties, the useless fuck-stick bounced helplessly off the portrait. Much to the young Gryffindor's masochistic pleasure, the viscous blood seeping from his skewered hand was dripping steadily into his demonic eyes, the feeling of his own bodily fluid stinging his retinas gave the awful freak new found strength, his crappy little Johnson becoming more rock-like and enflamed with each passing second. With the shriek of a thousand harpies, Neville Longbottom drew back his 'bent-in-the-wrong-place' right arm revealing a rake-like set of retractable claws and slashed away the fat lady's canvas mouth, smashing his once-human wang into the worm-eaten wood beneath causing major haemorrhage to his filthy self.

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Unbeknownst to the 'happy couple', an archaic paedophile was wandering the halls. His wizard's hat was at a jaunty angle, and his beard was matted with human faeces. He walked down the stairs, purposefully putting far too much weight on his broken leg. His eyes were madly revolving in opposite directions, presumably due to the lethal amounts of heroin coursing through his veins. The vicious looking remains of a WKD bottle were jammed into his stomach, causing him to leave a trail, akin to a snail from hell. The clotted blood was leaving a stain on his already soiled 'Frankie say relax' T-shirt. And his Nun's habit dress was stained with century old semen, which dripped steadily onto his knock-off 'New Rock' boots. He dragged an ice-pick that had been haphazardly tied onto the splintered end of a snooker cue.

He stopped for a moment, a with a house-elf brain matter stained grin, he felt warm, semi-solid urine encapsulate his Dora the Explorer thong. He sniffed the air, hanging invitingly among the pungent funk of his yellow cock juice and congealed shit, was the scent of his next victim. He dropped to all fours, and like a dementia afflicted Rottweiler he galloped in its direction. The rank old sex-attacker deliberately cracked his ancient head on the outward-jutting stone statue of Josef Fritzel as he threw himself around the last corner of the corridor, finally laying eyes on the pornographic sight before him.

Without a second thought, Albus Dumbledore raised his poopy-stained dildo of a wand and screamed the killing curse with blood-curdling malice. With a flash of green light, the horrific form of Neville Longbottom immediately drooped much to the chagrin of his plus-sized lover. The weight of the horrid little cunt was too much for his unnatural arm and the bone and flesh ripped under the strain, his muscles tearing and leaking fluid all over his two-dimensional whore.

Albus Dumbledore slowly advanced upon the dead child drooling like a wild dog and clutching his swelling sack of multiple testes, this would be a night to remember".

To be continued.

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**If you found the content of this masterpiece to be at all distasteful or offensive, then don't worry, there's much more to come.**

**And if you don't like those chapters, then fuck off.**


	2. Dumbledore's ArmyGeddon

**Dumbledore's Army-geddon**

**Wasn't the last chapter great? We know it was too.**

**Oh, and to our first AND ONLY reviewer 'Guest', we're not trolls, and there's two of us.**

**It's okay though we forgive you, and we love you, we would both slit our throats for you because you're our best friend in the entire cosmos. **

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With one sweep of his shattered leg, Albus Dumbledore kicked the ruined cadaver of Neville Longbottom aside; firstly he had to tie up some loose ends. The portrait of the fat lady shrieked for help, she knew exactly what the deranged old cunt was capable of. The old man wasted no time lighting the canvas with his 'Steve Urkel Brand Zippo Lighter'. It emitted a grating chorus of 'Did I burn that?'. With one hand Dumbledore held the flame close to his 2D adversary, and with his other rash-covered claw he rubbed his broken old ham-wand desperately. The fat woman's cries of terror and pain woke no one up, and even if it did no-one would have given one single solitary shit.

When the painting was no more than smouldering ash, Dumbledore noticed she had been guarding an opening. With all the curiosity of a house cat, the geriatric prick wandered in, and noticed a sign reading 'Gryffindor Common Room' above the threshold. Next to this, some presumably obese and friendless knob head, had scrawled 'Gryffindor Cum-on-Poo' in what looked like semen. He encountered nothing in the first room, save for a toad, steadily roasting in the fireplace. Dumbledore's eyes widened with unbridled excitement and lust, he scooped up the remains, not caring that his skin was blistering and burnt. He greedily wolfed the 'food' down, like a hungry dog with hot chips.

Not bothering to wipe the remnants of warty skin from his chin, the archaic psycho trudged up a staircase. At the top was a door, there was a homemade sign hanging that read 'No Gurlz aloud' which he promptly ripped off and pissed on. To gain entry, Dumbledore jammed his old man-meat into the keyhole and twisted until there was a sickening crunch. The balsa-wood door slipped off his hinges, and made virtually no noise. With all the characteristics of a severely brain-damaged Gorilla, the twisted old murderer scanned the room. He felt the elastic of his frilly panties stretch at the sight of several defenceless sleeping lads.

With a single bound he scooped up a crusty pillow from the ground and placed it over the hideous face of Seamus Finnegan. Dumbledore twisted a silencer onto his custom 'Wham!' Smith and Wesson revolver. Without an ounce of remorse, he placed the gun to the pillow and pulled the trigger three times. The bullets travelled through the shit stained pillow like a hot knife through Dumbledore's balls, and blasted their way through Finnegan's skull, extinguishing his pointless existence. Dumbledore immediately lost interest and slung the ghastly murder weapon onto the bed of Dean Thomas, Seamus' best friend. Thomas smiled in his sleep; he kissed the end of the silencer, before slipping it up his slack anus and whispering 'Granddad'.

The aged fuck-face left the room and descended the staircase, which had begun to flow with the blood of Seamus Finnegan. He suddenly heard a sing-song voice, a shrill rendition of Justin Bieber's 'Boyfriend'. Seeking some relief, Dumbledore produced a corkscrew from the infected wound in his lower thigh, and violently punctured his own eardrums. He felt blood run down his bird-shit strewn mutton-chops. With the smile of a thousand rapists he began to walk down again, only to be confronted with Colin Creevy, or 'Cuntin Creepy' as his parents had called him. He was wearing a vastly customised pink bunny baby costume.

He had cut the crotch out, and what he would refer to as his 'penis' hung free, swaying in a non-existent wind. He was wearing fishnet stockings and stilettos, their shine had been long-dulled by the coating of semen they had. A 'Rampant-Rabbit' brand vibrator protruded from his rectum, the setting was so strong that Finnegan's blood bounced in an abhorrent disco-dance. In Colin's hands was one of those machines that farmers use to extract horse-semen, or so Dumbledore had been told. Colin had adapted it to fit the unmistakable boil covered shaft of one Harry Potter. He gave the old man a cum-encrusted smile, and without missing a beat, Dumbledore retrieved the broken WKD bottle from his stomach wound and slashed the child's throat. A single tear rolled down the youngster's cheek, and he struggled to mouth the silent question: 'Why?'. Dumbledore's only answer was to audibly foul himself, and then violently kick Creevy down the stairs with all the force he could muster. A shriek of delight rang out from behind the sex pest, and Hedwig flew from the boy's dormitory.

Like the disease-ridden scavenger she was, the owl began to pick Colin's flesh from his bones, ignoring his final pathetic attempts to shoo her away. Dumbledore lost interest in the blood-curdling murder scene and wandered out of the common room, but he didn't forget to squat down and 'release the chocolate hostage' on the doorstep. He saw the mangled carcass of Neville, and a chilling smile crept onto his shit-smeared face. Dumbledore picked up the remains, and proceeded to, with much bone breaking, tie the legs around his neck. The result was that the old man now wore the body of his former student like an obscene batman-cape. Without stopping to even consider the potential outcomes, the ancient bag of shit leapt over the banister and hurtled toward the stone floor. The moving staircases jostled him back and forth; one even trapped his fingers and took them clean off his left hand. Dumbledore howled with insane laugher at the sight of his mauled appendage.

The thumb unfortunately was left on, but he soon saw to that. He savagely attacked it with his animal-like jaws, he had filed his teeth to a point, and so they made short work of his one remaining digit. Thinking fast, an ability that he was capable of despite the fact that he had previously destroyed a large part of his brain with a rusty hatchet, Dumbledore swung Neville around to shield himself from the floor. They impacted with a terrible crunch, bone and offal leaked out of Neville like a ruptured freezer bag full of chum.

This didn't matter to his old assailant, who without thought, tore off one of Neville's legs and started crunching the rotten frog-meat with a demonic grin of his old fucking face. He dragged the useless remains toward the kitchen, but he stopped to carve the word 'cunt' into Harry Potter's seat in the great hall using his vicious looking fingernails. Once in the cooking room, the blood-crazed paedophile slapped the churned corpse onto a table, and slashed at the gonads until they exploded in a tear jerking display of blood-strewn beauty. A house elf had been awoken by the clatter, and decided to investigate. He crept into the kitchenry, and was confronted by the sight of a stony faced Dumbledore and his latest victim.

Wordlessly, the old man pointed to the corpse,

"Oh no Mr Dumbledore sir, we can't cook this, not for the children." The elf begged in an annoying put-on Mexican accent. Dumbledore considered this, and gave his answer. He reached into a nearby cupboard and retrieved a sleeping geriatric house-elf. He brought it above his head, and wrenched the little twat's head off its shoulders. He then sucked the organs from the elf's tiny body, before brandishing its head and performing a bizarre pagan dance. It was only interrupted by the occasional scream or for the old man to rub the head on his crotch. The elf looked at the floor dejectedly,

"That was my grandfather..." Dumbledore simply tossed the mangled head at the elf's feet, and then pointed at the corpse of Neville again.

"OK sir, we understand." The elf began to miserably rouse his friends, they would have to pull an all nighter in order to get the 'meal' prepared. Dumbledore retrieved some cutlery from the draw and jammed them into his hand wounds. With his new knife-fingers he could finally echo his hero, Freddy Krueger. The old knob-head left the kitchen, but he didn't forget his snack, a mouth watering 'leg of Neville'. He was full up from all the cum and shit he had wolfed down tonight, and so he would have to stash his prize. A bollock-shrinking grin forced his way across Dumbledore horrendous visage as the perfect locale came to mind.

With a heave, the mental-case finished cramming the remains into the tree. He checked his Casio-calculator watch and saw it was way past half one in the morning. He sniffed the air, and detected the unmistakable stench of a child's fear, coming from the forbidden forest. Like a hellhound he galloped on all fours into the gloomy black wood. Tonight was far from over...

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**Seriously, we'll suck you off.**


	3. Ginger and Dork

**Ginger and Dork**

To our reviewer, if you were disturbed it's obvious you are a perverted terrorist.

Thanks for the view :)

Seriously though cunts this chapter is the dog's bollocks so give it a fucking read and don't be a pussy gaylord.

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It was a normal, everyday morning in the Gryffindor first year's dormitory. Harry had his usual morning wood, Ron was dreaming about Harry feeding him from the hand, Seamus Finnegan and Colin Creevy were dead, and Dean Thomas was being hauled away by Detective Kurt Wallander and the Ystad Swedish police force. Harry got up and pulled open the curtains, the light painfully burnt Ron's pale and freckly skin, much to the delight of Harry. With a fiendish grin, Harry retrieved the flesh-light from under his bed, and unscrewed the top.

"Hey Ron, look at this," Harry's best friend poked his head from under the duvet, and the black haired cunt emptied the build up of semen onto Ron's face.

"Hahaha, now you know what it feels like to be your mum," Harry jeered, and smiled at the sound of Ron's sobbing. They eventually got ready, and without his knowledge Harry planted the sex toy in the ginger wanker's pocket.

"What are we going to do today Harry?" Ron slurred,

"Well you're going to try to walk upright and I'm going to watch you gormless ginger fuckwit." They entered the common room and saw Hermione, the stupid whore had her fuck-ugly faced buried in some shitty book as usual.

"Hey bitch, want to suck some dick?" she set down her beano annual 2012 and looked up.

"No shitting way Potter, I've got a look at your sorry excuse for a bell-end in the unisex toilets, and let me fucking tell you cunt, your fucking tiny shit-dick makes Neville's useless pinny look like Hagrid's Schlong, so take a hike, mike." Ron chuckled, much to the fury of Harry. He took an empty WKD bottle from his robes and slung it at Hermione. It hit the witch square between the eyes, hopefully fracturing her skull and causing irreparable brain damage. Ron's laughter immediately stopped, and to teach him a lesson the boy who lived slashed his face with a Stanley knife. Ron recoiled, but as always he eventually followed Harry like the limp-dicked lapdog he was. They got to the top of the stairs, and Harry kicked Ron down.

"Woooooaah, you've got to be more careful, you could've died and no-one would have given a shit," Harry said with mock concern. He walked over Ron's face, breaking his nose with his powerful Doc Marten boots. The duo got to the great hall, and to the chagrin of Harry someone had carved the word 'Cunt' onto his seat. The teachers were sat at their usual seats. The headmaster was above them in his hanging cage, he was growling like a Doberman in heat and he flecked frothy, semi-corrosive saliva onto the kids below.

"Say, where's Neville?"

"Hopefully dead," Harry replied nonchalantly.

"This food's a bit weird innit?"

"Yeah," Harry agreed, the breakfast was a thick, bubbling stew. It was dark green and had lumps of tough, gamy meat in there. The meat was warty, and if they didn't know any better the two friends would have thought that it was frog, but of course that was preposterous. For some odd reason there was a group of house elves near the kitchen door, they were huddled together and looked as if they had been crying. A glob of semen fell into Ron's food, he looked up and his eyes met with Dumbledore, who had just finished rubbing one out. Harry laughed uproariously and slammed the redhead's face into the soup. Everyone in the hall laughed, and McGonagall shrieked 'fucking kill him!'.

"Look at this, this was in his pocket!" Harry cried, brandishing the flesh-light. Everyone yelled hurtful things and Ginny, Ron's slag of a sister, got up and stuck a butter knife though her brother's hand.

* * *

They finished their food and made their way to Hagrid's lesson 'Grow your own weed'. Harry stopped to take a piss up the 'James and Lily Potter' memorial tree, but he spied something in the knot-hole.

"Hey dick-tits get over here and look at this."

"What do you want Harry?" Ron queried of his friend, only to be met with a robe covered arm pointing toward the tree.

"There's something in there, go get it or I'll fucking kill you." Harry barked, his ginger mate was only too happy to do whatever he asked.

"OK," Ron reached both of his hands in, but found the object too far to grab, "Give me a push please sir?"

"Right you are," Harry replied, with all of his strength Harry pushed his friend, Ron's head and shoulders disappeared into the tiny hole. Ron's protest went unheard by Harry, who had given up pushing in favour of savagely beating with his fists. The redhead got further and further stuck in the tree, and then to his horror, what was hidden in the wood became clear. It was a severed leg, and from the looks of it, it belonged to a grossly oversized frog. Ron squealed like a fucking bitch at the sight, this time Harry heard, and so he increased his efforts tenfold. One of his flailing feet sort of messed up Harry's hair a bit, and so as proper retribution he said a quick incantation and set of Ron's shitty hand-me-down shoes on fire. Harry decided he should probably get Hagrid, but after all he did need a piss. He soaked Ron's back in the caustic golden liquid, causing more muffled squeals to emanate the tree-prison.

He sent the gamekeeper a quick BBM message, and a few moments later the man-mountain arrived on a blood-soaked forklift truck, he ran over several squirrels and rabbits on his short journey.

"Hey there Harry, I got your BBM, you said that Ron was in a spot of bother,"

"Yes Hagrid, the stupid cunt got himself stuck in the tree."

"Righto, we'll have him out in a jiffy." From his Pocahontas fanny-pack Hagrid retrieved two coils, one of rope and one of rusty razor-wire. 'Well I don't want to give the little mite rope-burn'. As any good person would, Hagrid decided on the razor wire.

With a spring in his size 56 step, Hagrid lashed Ron's leg to the forklift; there was a cry of what was presumably delight from the tree. Hagrid got in the truck and reversed abruptly, at times like this he thanked Allah that the 0-100 on his customized racer was half a second. Ron came loose and fell in a heap. Hagrid gave Ron an affectionate rub on the head which only served to half scalp the ginger cunt. The beardy tramp got on his forklift and drove away, and Harry retrieved the leg from the now destroyed memorial to his parents and cracked Ron over the head with it.

That night while Harry beat off on Skype to Neville's grandmother, who was feeling lustful now her grandson was missing, Ron formulated a plan. The strawberry blonde boy was having trouble sleeping, and tonight it was due to excitement and not the ever-present fear of a drunken Flitwick molesting him.

Ron set his alarm early; he woke up at around six in the morning and performed the mother of all pranks. To get back at Harry, he took his friends hat and slipped it under his bed. Ron sprinted away, he was so excited that he slipped on a used condom and hit his face on the floor, painfully cracking his eye socket, but it was nothing a bit of solder and gaffer tape couldn't fix. He hid under his duvet giggling, so great was his mirth that by the time Harry had awoken, Ron had shit, pissed himself and come simultaneously about sixteen times. Harry got dressed, not noticing his friends giggling as he did so.

"Hmm where's my hat," he pondered, before instantly seeing the tip sticking out from under his bed, "Oh, there's my hat." Harry shouted his friend,

"Hey dipshit, you coming to get food?"

"No...You go," Ron choked out between his irritating guffaws; Harry shrugged and exited the dormitory.

It was around half twelve and Harry had slipped out of Professor Snape's lesson. They had been dissecting slugs and such an act had made Harry's wank-pipe positively stiff. He needed to relieve the tension, and so a quick tug had seemed apt. However Harry was a sucker for pranks, and so he had decided to kill two phoenixes with one bludger and rub out his ungodly man-seed into the owl and potato soup. In the kitchen he encountered a slumbering house-elf, and so, as any wizard would, he crushed its pathetic little noggin under his brand new Nike 'total 90' football boots. In a glorious firework of pulverised bone and shimmering brain matter, its head was reduced to mere pâté underneath Harry's death stamp. Harry sampled a piece on the end of his finger, an act which only fortified his throbbing wood. Carelessly he slung its body into the consommé that he planned to fertilise shortly.

"Hello Master Harry, if it suits you, may I please felate your glorious pork-wand," Dobby appeared from the shadows and stepped over the stain of his mother's brains. Dobby was Harry's little fuck-slave in the castle, and he had been dominated to such a degree that he had honestly just offered to orally pleasure his mother's killer.

"Hey Dobby, come over here and catch some of this in your mouth," Dobby eagerly agreed, and once Harry had half turned him into a snow elf, Dobby said,

"Dobby is surprised to see the ginger one today,"

"Oh yeah, and why's that?"

"Well he hid your hat this morning," despite the fact that he had climaxed about thirty seconds ago and should have done this already, Harry stopped jacking off. His wide grinned, cross-eyed come-face, slowly warped into a ghastly, rage possessed mask of terrifying wrath and hatred. In a gravelly voice that one could only describe as 'shitting scary' Harry asked,

"He...did...what?!" Dobby was about to reply, but he was immediately scooped off his feet, and his big nosed ugly little semen covered face was pressed onto a white hot hob. Harry took out a meat tenderising hammer and smashed Dobby repeatedly; his protests were turned more and more into visceral gurgles with every blow. Dobby squealed and tried to cover his erection, and then he was thrown by Harry into the freezer. Harry cocked his leg up and pissed onto Dobby with an obscene cackle. The door was then slammed shut and the faggy little house elf could already feel his master's urine freezing around him. Eventually he could no longer move, and in this dark place he had only the constant buzz of the appliance, and the frigid corpse of Fawkes for company.

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On his way up the stairs Harry had some time to think, why simply beat up his friend now when he could wait until tonight, and drag it out? Like a man on a mission, Harry went and collected some tools for the job. He visits included the potions lab, the kitchen again, the herbology department and the hospital wing (without forgetting to piss in the now life support bound Hermione's IV). To bide his time Harry shoved the sword of Godric Gryffindor up Hedwig's arse and roasted her over the fire. A psychotic grin came to his face while he crunched on burnt owl meat, tonight would be fun. Ron entered the common room, and bounded over to Harry excitedly,

"Hey Harry, I finally got the courage to ask out Luna today, and she said yes, we're going to Hogsmeade first thing tomorrow morning."

"Ooh, you should get some sleep then,"

"Oh I will, good night best friend," Ron ran up to the dormitory like a fucking 5 year old on Ritalin. Harry would need to wait until he fell asleep, so to pass the time he seized a sleeping Crookshanks and put him in his pants. He sighed contentedly as the frightened cat savaged his genitals. After he had had his fun the boy who lived took a Dennis-the-Menace-esque slingshot from his pocket and crammed the feline into the elastic, Harry fired it at the wall and it impacted with a pleasing breaking sound. Harry then picked up the lifeless bag-of-bones and handed it to detective Kurt Wallander who had come to gather more evidence.

"I found this in Dean Thomas' bed," The detective exclaimed something in Swedish and gallivanted out of the room like ace PC he was. Harry's novelty 'Hootie and the Blowfish' watch sounded its irritating alarm. The singing sounded like a cat being killed, ironically. Harry tore it from his wrist and tossed it next to his faithful, slow-roasting winged companion. He crooned in a chillingly lustful, singsong voice,

"It's time," he uttered a demonic chant and rose from the ground. His eyes burned with the hellfire of a million tortured souls. He glided up the stairs; the evil in his latrine of a soul was comparable to the dark lord...Dumbledore. Harry cast aside his cherished signed copy of Alan Carr's 'Spexxy Beast' with 13 hours of commentary from the deity himself. It fell from his bedside table with a crack, thus showing how far gone the first year was. He no longer cared for his prized possession; he only wanted the frayed old parchment that had been underneath the 'comedy' DVD. He looked up the chant to summon Mephistopheles, to aid him in the ginger killing. However before he could look up the correct spell Percy burst in, there was a riding crop in his tampon-handling mitts.

"Alright lads, trousers down, it's time for botty inspection," Harry had no time for the routine botty inspection and so he retrieved six shuriken from his utility belt and launched them at his obviously incestuous antagonist. Percy was thrown back and became stuck to the wall; the throwing stars penetrated his pathetic little form, and not the kind of penetration that he usually practises. Viscous, black blood leaked from his wounds, it dropped steadily onto the floor, melting a hole like in that film, alien. Harry looked back to the fragile scroll, but to his despair Ron had rubbed out the summoning incantation, and written, 'Hary iz my fwend'. Harry felt an uncontrollable tirade of indescribable, bubbling fury. His red face steamed, and its awesome heat turned his glasses to liquid. They melted from his face and seared the floor, again like in that film, alien. He could hear his pulse thundering in his ears, his heart was pounding a mile a minute, and finally a cluster of veins in Harry's temple ruptured under the enormous pressure. Blood leaked out of Harry's ears, turning his cochlea and eardrum into slush; it fell onto his torso like a hideous parody of Niagara Falls. He had ground his teeth to such an extent that he had a mouthful of worn down nubs and powder, luckily he had his falsies handy. Fuck biding his time; now was the moment for the mother-cunting main event.

Harry stomped over to the body of Percy, and in one swift motion pulled off the head. He then drop kicked it at the sleeping Ron.

"Johnny Fucking Wilkinson!," he shrieked, Ron awoke at this and was abruptly struck by his dead brother's severed head, there were a few vertebrae hanging from the bloody wound and an insane grin still frozen on the face.

"Harry, you don't usually murder my family, just pork them," Ron said, bemused at his friends unusual behaviour. Harry trudged over to his friend with an intimidating glower; he was dragging a large bag labelled, 'Santa's Swollen Sack of Goodies'.

"Poppa's got a brand new bag," Harry trilled, he raised the bag above his head, poised to hit his best friend. Ron realised this was life and death, and so he did the unthinkable. While Harry was vulnerable, Ron punched him in the stomach. Harry stopped, and unfortunately it seemed Ron's defensive act had only served to further infuriate his aggressor. Harry pulled an extension cord from the bag and tied it around his own throat. His face turned brick red and his head ballooned to physically impossible proportions.

Harry screamed something incomprehensible, he then took a minute thumb tack, and with a repulsive smile he pierced his face. The resultant blast shook the castle, and Ron was thrown out of the dormitory and into the common room. His head bounced like a coconut on each stone step, and he fell in a dishevelled heap. Harry was hot on his tail, and leapt in the form of a threatening pile driver onto the strawberry blonde boy. Ron simply rolled out of his way and Harry painfully dislocated his arm on the granite slabs. He got up and Ron saw the extent of his head-wound, like a deflated balloon Harry's head lolled over both shoulders. His eyes were half a meter apart and both were revolving madly. They focused on Ron, and Harry's mouth curled into what some freaks may generously describe as a smile.

Harry put his thumb in his mouth and blew harder than he did on Uncle Vernon's fuck-pole. His cranium re-inflated and, despite numerous fractures and irreparable wounds, he managed to retain some structural integrity. Ron's friend's head looked like a fucking potato someone had beaten with a fucking claw hammer. He now had numerous permanent scars to add to his famous lightning shaped one. Ron gagged at the sight before of the little speccy eleven-year old. To say he looked like his head had been through a printing press was an understatement. Harry regarded his out-of-socket arm with a child-like curiosity, before wrenching it clean off. Ron leapt to action, meaning he tripped over an upturned table and was immediately beaten without mercy by Harry. He was using his own torn-off limb as a weapon, and then when he was done, Harry aligned the arm with its relevant socket, and the flesh moulded over, giving him back his right arm. He could do this because of his demon powers or whatever. Ron recognised this flicked some holy water over Harry; he always kept some in case of Dumbledore attacking.

It melted through Harry's nose and he emitted a shit-loosening wail. He tried to re-grow the greasy little conk but in his panicked state, a penis erupted out from his face. Reverting to his natural state, Harry immediately tried to felate in, giving Ron enough time to retrieve Harry's charred pet from the fire and smack Harry's head with it. This barely fazed the maniac, who retrieved a nuclear bomb machine gun from his sack, but it didn't have any ammunition.

"Fuck," said Harry, not noticing Ron getting something from the bag. The redhead retrieved a syringe labelled 'AIDs' and jammed it into Harry's back.

"Hahaha, I fucked that monkey, I'm AIDs patient zero you fuckwit!" Harry seemed enormously proud of this fact. Harry took several landmines out of the sack and threw them at Ron like Frisbees, and while his friend was preoccupied Harry yanked one of the many used jonnies from his shithole and advanced on Ron. He began to strangle the boy and left Ron no choice but to chew threw the shit covered condom. Ron took out his wand and used 'confuse ray', and while Harry was confused he accidentally hurt himself by stabbing through his own clavicle with a trident.

Harry was quick to recover and began throwing his own faeces like a safari park chimp. Ron was used to this, and caught the shit in his open mouth, then, with some skilled tongue work he moulded it into the shape of a sword and spat it into his hand. He wielded it like a mentally-ill Aragorn, who was in the prisoner of Azkaban as Harry's uncle, it's true, look it up. It hit Harry and did no damage because it was made of shit and wasn't a proper sword, besides rubbing shit on his body only made Harry stronger. In a final sexual frenzy Harry Potter punched himself hard in the stomach. This confusing act led to the horrendous sight of the young boy vomiting from deep within his twisted self what can only be described as 'hell spawn'. The filth-secreting abomination uncurled its mangled head from its twisted, bleeding body and in a heart-renching, soul-decaying death-plea shrieked two awful words: 'Kill me.''

Ronald Weasley looked upon the beast with pity in his eyes, he felt like he had found a kindred spirit and must complete its final wish. With an almighty roar, the lion-hearted child swung at the creature's neck with his pet hatchet, Maude. The awful noggin flew from the shoulders of Ron's new friend and hit the wall, exploding like a gusbutingly horrid firework. Harry watched the scene with glee, he hadn't been this turned on since his parents were killed in front of him by the dark lord... Dumbledore. They tussled and fought, and in the fray Harry managed to crack out a crafty one, but eventually Ron lay on the floor and Harry appeared to be the victor. He searched for a weapon to kill his best friend in the whole world, but alas all the goodies of his sack were emptied (in both senses). But then an idea sprang to mind, he shrieked in his native Swahili:

"Mapema kwa kitanda na mapema kupanda, fyller taifa na guys big nguvu!" He then dislocated his jaw, just as he had seen his drug-addled father do to freezing tramps when the cunt was still breathing. He reached one of his blood soaked hands down his throat and tugged at his own spine. One by one the vertebrae came loose from their moorings, and he finally pulled his prize out of his drooling mouth. Ron was shocked to see his friend rip out his own spine, just like sub-zero did in the first mortal kombat game. You know that one in the arcade, that one that got banned because it was too violent and pissed off all the mums. They got really annoyed, like seriously annoyed, I think it was cool personally even though you had to press like a million buttons at once. I think it was blue red yellow down up down left yellow blue red left yellow. No, no wait it was blue red down yellow down right down left yellow blue red left yellow. It could swear there was a green in there somewhere. Hang on let me go ask my brother.

Ok he said it was blue red yellow down red down left yellow blue red left yellow. But he's a fucking liar because he said there was an infinite machine gun ammo cheat on super Mario brothers and there wasn't even a fucking machine gun in that game. Does he think I'm stupid? I hate him, and his stupid girlfriend. I want to go and live with dad and Karen but mum says I can't because he shoots heroin and is a fucking dole-scrounger. Harry brandished his weapon like a kid with a dead halibut. But then his look of triumph was replaced by one of grim realisation. Without its vital prop his body folded on itself like a sofa-bed. He fell to the ground like the human equivalent of a polish knock-off of an action man. Ron walked over to his fallen adversary, he considered committing seppuku but he didn't have his tanto.

Ron looked at the broken, fractured, deformed body of his friend, and remembered all of the good times they had, like when Harry used to hit his shins with a crowbar, and kick him down the stairs, and have sex with members of Ron's immediate family, and hide gay Nazi porn under Ron's bed, and kill Ron's pets, and shit on Ron's clothes, and tell Ron's friends that he was related to Harold Shipman, and create his own newspaper which announced Ron as the mastermind of 9/11 and the head of Al-Queada, and cum on Ron's face while he slept, and told Professor Flitwick that Ron wanted to suck his dick and bury Ron in 9 feet of soil in a steel coffin full of acid. Those were some good, good times. Ron tenderly kissed Harry's forehead, right next to the swastika shaped scar that Harry had carved with a rusty Stanley knife on his third birthday. To the strawberry-blonde cunt's revulsion Harry head crumpled like a damp, empty Tesco bag. Suddenly the fallen soldier began to splutter, and Ron rushed to his side.

"I'm here my friend," Ron choked through salty tears of semen,

"Cunt," Harry spat, before clamping his reptilian jaws onto Ron's calf. Ron wailed and stamped on the jellyfish like head. It burst and grey brain matter leaked out like a gone-off cup-a-soup. Finally the bleeding seemed to cease, but just like before Harry's head began to unevenly inflate. It ruptured and spewing matter and cranial faeces over ever surface of the Gryffindor common room. Ron tried to clean himself off with a spell but only blew of his own testes. Forgetting his problems he retrieved a prit-stick from his cloak, and tried to glue his friends head together, but it was for naught, even Harry's throbbing priaprism had begun to subside. Ron desperately sucked on it to try and regain some signs of life in Harry. But his friend simply ejaculated shit, and then it came off in Ron's mouth. He was going to spit it out, but he knew what Harry would prefer him to do, and so he chewed through it and swallowed, at least would now always be with him. The ginger minx cleaned himself off, and read some funeral rites from the Guru-Granth-Sahib. He slowly ascended the stairs, glad that he could finally rest. He climbed into his 'Suspended-Animation Hyper-sleep chamber' with his pet cat, 'Jones'. He was sad about Captain Dallas, Kane, Lambert, Parker and Brett being killed by the Xenomorph aboard the Nostromo, but he had hopes that he would be awakon years later on his native planet Earth.

"Good night Jonsey," he said tenderly

"Good night Ripley," the cat drawled in an offensive New-York accent.

Like in that film, Alien.

* * *

Wallander!


End file.
